


Where Pain Lies

by Morgana



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Spike sleeps in the hospital bed, Angel does some reminiscing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Pain Lies

“What was he like? Before, I mean. When you met him.”

Angel looked over at Fred, watching her hover in the doorway before he glanced back at his unconscious childe. “He was... different.” He thought about the fledgling Drusilla had brought home, with his soft, lightly accented voice and softer hands, then remembered the fire that had flashed in his eyes when he’d goaded him into sticking his hand into the sun. “Although maybe not as different as I thought.”

A hand settled on his shoulder, comfort that he didn’t deserve offered to soothe a pain he refused to acknowledge. “Tell me about him?”

Once upon a time, he would’ve refused, would have said he didn’t remember or want to talk about Spike, but he’d come too close to losing him again to refuse the chance to talk about him now. The memory of his hands lying on the table while his eyes stared hopelessly up at them was still too fresh, too raw, and maybe thoughts of the past could offer some ease. So he began to talk. He told her about the wide-eyed young gentleman that had embraced his new life with vigor and shed the veneer of civilization within months of his turning, about his transformation into a tough Cockney who dressed like a dock worker and talked like a street urchin. And finally, he talked about the champion he’d become, led by a love that Angel hadn’t wanted to believe in to become a man that he hardly even recognized. A man that he’d first glimpsed over a century ago, yearning for something more. A man that he’d sought to crush under his boot heel because he didn’t understand him.

Fred listened to all of it, every word, without saying anything in return. When at last there was nothing more to say, she patted his shoulder, hand light and graceful as a butterfly’s wing. “I think maybe you should tell him all this. Sounds like it’s something he needs to hear.”

Angel shook his head. “Spike doesn’t want to hear anything I have to say.” He’d made that quite clear when they’d fought over that damn fake cup.

“You know, my momma always says there are two kinds of people - those who lock all their hurt up inside and those who shove it away and say it’s not there, but they’re both hurting just the same.” She bent to kiss his cheek. “I know which kind you are - do you know which one Spike is?”

She didn’t wait around for an answer, but he hadn’t really expected her to. The question was more metaphorical than anything else, but as he stared down at the still features, softened in sleep, he saw the echo of the boy that had believed so fervently in love and destiny that he’d given up his human life for a chance at it. He thought about how he’d met the confession of his hopes, with sneering derision, and one hand settled slowly over Spike’s motionless one as he said quietly, “Yeah, I know.”

Briefly squeezing his hand, Angel got to his feet and went in search of the doctors. Whatever Spike needed to make his recovery easier, whatever would start him back on the path to being the same believer he’d once been, he intended to see that he got it.


End file.
